


It Reminded Me of You

by Auto_Alchemechanicist



Series: Ways To Say 'I Love You' [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:27:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24105937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auto_Alchemechanicist/pseuds/Auto_Alchemechanicist
Summary: “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought this back from Paris.”The Brit turned after filling one of the mugs and eyed the bag. “What’s in it?”“Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?” The most suspicious thing about that question was Francis didn’t sound one bit sarcastic, but fully teasing and mischievous. Yet another thing that irritated Arthur.
Relationships: England/France (Hetalia)
Series: Ways To Say 'I Love You' [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739251
Comments: 3
Kudos: 29





	It Reminded Me of You

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote another one.

Mugs were something Arthur had plenty of, but that wasn’t to say he used all of them. Truth-be-told, he had a decent collection of them stored away in his cup board in the kitchen, and pulled a few out to have some tea. If he couldn’t find one, he’d just take another one out, later to discover the one he was looking for sitting on his desk, or on the bedside table of his room. He sometimes forgot his tea on the garden table, and felt devastated when he retrieved it hours later only to find it had gone cold. Never mind that it had been outside for who knows how long; he had to re-heat it again and that was more annoying than anything.

‘Anything’ was a very broad term, but there were many things that could annoy the Brit and make him think he was going insane. Loud voices were one of them; screaming children, another; and cut flowers with lonely stems as well. Oh, and Francis, he couldn’t forget about him. It was weird, really, how someone could be so irritable enough to push his buttons and leave him to be a steaming mess. That Frenchman was an expert in pissing him off, and Arthur sometimes thought Francis did it out of pure pleasure in seeing him suffer.

Nevertheless, the annoyance could be traded in for other actions. How did that relate to his mugs, and the one that he used more often than the others, you ask? Well, it certainly didn’t have to do with the fact that his favorite was funny looking, or the fact that it had some awfully written French words on it, or the fact that it came from that infuriating neighboring country of his.

Oh, but Francis had no shame in giving it to him. The sarcastic bastard waltzed into his home, like he normally did (something else that really got on Arthur’s nerves. He could have sworn he’d changed the locks last time!), and nonchalantly took a seat on one of the kitchen tables. At this point, Arthur had been so used to his unannounced visits that he didn’t feel surprised one bit.

“Tea?” he had asked while he washed a couple of mugs.

“A cup wouldn’t hurt,” Francis had shrugged as he answered, crossing his left leg over his right, getting comfortable as he waited. He had set a shopping bag on the table when he had arrived.

Arthur joined him at the table after placing the kettle on the stove to have the tea prepared. “Out touring London again? Haven’t you been here thousands of times, Bonnefoy?” He stared at the bag on the table for a moment before turning his gaze to Francis.

“One can never finish exploring a city,” Francis replied. “There is always some hidden site that I _must_ look into.”

“It’s just London,” Arthur emphasized. Maybe because he lived there, he didn’t find it so appealing or attractive. It was just like any other city to him. Why did people always make such a big deal about it?

“And you are just an Englishman.” Francis said it with such an easy going tone, not his usual taunting one when he aimed to insult Arthur. “And I, a simple Frenchman.”

“Your point?”

“What I have been trying to say all along.” As if it was obvious. It only made Arthur raise an eyebrow, expecting an explanation. Francis sighed. “I mean that even if I did look into the heart of England for centuries, it would never quite be enough to say I’ve seen it all. I’ve seen most of it, you could say very close to one-hundred percent, but that fraction that I have yet to explore is the part I want to see.”

If Arthur didn’t know any better, and if he hadn’t known Francis for more than a thousand years, he would have taken that as simple flirting. Perhaps it was, but there was a certain way in which Francis flirted with him. He never commented on his eyes or his clothes, or how his hair looked. On the contrary, he often made fun of them all. How his hair was always a mess, how his eyes were surrounded by those awful bags, how he always dressed like a seventeenth century grandfather. Francis’ superficial comments were never aimed at him, not that he wanted to be told how pretty his eyes were, or how handsome he looked, or how his hair looked less like a bird’s nest and more like …well, hair. Arthur didn’t care about any of those things.

However, Francis knew just what to say to make him feel just the slightest bit flattered. Not that much! Don’t start thinking he got flustered by any of that damn sweet talk. Only a fool would blush in front of that baguette addict. He did bring his hand over his mouth, as if wiping away some sweat from his upper lip, but he was lost in thought for a moment and he used that as a mask to hide the fluttering feeling in his stomach.

“Well, good luck on uncovering that one tiny part you’re missing,” he answered with a nod.

Francis’ grin turned smug. “Would you like to join me in my journey? It probably will not take too long.”

“Perhaps later. Our tea is almost ready.” As if on cue, the kettle began screeching, announcing that it was indeed prepared to be taken off the stove. “In the evening, if you rather?”

“As long as you come with me,” Francis nodded. He saw as Arthur stood and carefully removed the kettle. “Oh, I almost forgot. I brought this back from Paris.”

The Brit turned after filling one of the mugs and eyed the bag. “What’s in it?”

“Why don’t you come and find out for yourself?” The most suspicious thing about that question was Francis didn’t sound one bit sarcastic, but fully teasing and mischievous. Yet another thing that irritated Arthur.

He set the kettle on the stove again and left the steaming mug on the counter to cool. Taking the bag, he spread it open and took out something that was wrapped in newspapers and weighed like the way porcelain did. Another mug, he guessed. Didn’t Francis know he had a cupboard full of them already? After unwrapping it, he took in the finely painted decorations on the gift. It had two hands that seemed to be working on an embroidery project, which was rather marvelous, considering the fact he loved needle work. But he set the mug down when seeing the rest of what was on it.

“Could you be any vainer?” Arthur asked, trying to suppress a snicker.

“Actually, yes, but I did not try this time,” the Frenchman answered.

Despite his exasperation, Arthur took the mug and washed it before filling it with tea and bringing the other cup to the table, placing it in front of Francis. “It reminded me of you,” he heard Francis add.

“Well, I can’t say it isn’t unique,” Arthur admitted with a sigh. “Thank you, dear.”

“Any time. I found more amusing ones, but they are a little ridiculous. I’ll bring one for you anyway,” Francis chuckled, taking a sip afterwards.

“How thoughtful of you.”

When Arthur thought about it, he wondered how he didn’t let the mug fall to the floor so it could shatter accidentally, but he was glad he didn’t. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to replace that mug with another as his favorite, even if it had French words on it, even if it somehow poked fun at his hobby, and even if Francis had given it to him.

How right Francis was, thinking the mug reflected Arthur’s character. It would have been nice if the message was in English, but the embroidered letters of ‘ _J’aime la France_ ’ along with the decorations of two accompanying hearts, and a little black sheep on either side of the handle seemed to work. Somehow.

**Author's Note:**

> After having a discussion about mugs with britishwreck I was reminded about cute, little sheep. I hope the design wasn’t weird. I thought it was rather fitting, and so did France. Let me know what you think!!


End file.
